The Blind Leading The Blind
by DelMarch
Summary: Two war veterans rebuild their shattered lives, and find love on the way in some rather unexpected places indeed. Past Ikkaku/Yumichika, passing ShuuheixRangiku, eventual ShuuheixYumichika, others in the background. Het AND slash, but no graphic content.
1. Bone Deep

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach nor its characters, and I am not making any money out of this fanfiction.

**

**Chapter One : Bone Deep**

_Ikkaku..._

His behaviour had not changed - at least in the eyes of those who did not know him very well. He still carried himself with his trademark irritating, quiet pride. He still smiled his customary small, arrogant smirk. He still impeccably took care of most of the paperwork of the Eleventh Division. He most definitely was still that unpredictable and potentially dangerous ball of power that all his underlings had learned to fear over the years; those few members of the Zaraki Squads who had figured that maybe now, now that he must be mourning the death of his lover, was their perfect chance to finally beat the pretty-boy and take his seat, quickly remembered to their dismay and rather intense pain that Ayasegawa Yumichika, just like the previous third seat, actually _enjoyed_ being given a physical outlet to his burdening feelings. He had not changed one bit, and he made sure that everyone knew that.

_Ikkaku..._

Those who knew him well, though, were aware that Yumichika was nothing if not a master at keeping appearances, and they consequently guessed that he was once again simply putting those skills into good practice. To them it was obvious that it was merely on the outside that nothing had changed; on the inside, _everything_ had changed.

_Ikkaku!_

The bald warrior had finally done it: he had gone and left his faithful shadow behind, as everyone, beginning with Yumichika himself, had always known he eventually would.

When Yumichika had met him all those years ago, Ikkaku had already had it written all over his face, this desire to die, this will to fight again and again until he found the right adversary, the one who would allow him to lose his life without losing face. Yumichika had never held any illusion, he had never fooled himself into believing that Ikkaku would change for his sake, and every time Ikkaku had _almost_ died, Yumichika had merely counted himself lucky that he had survived instead.

Now that it had finally happened for good, however, he thought he could scream from the pain.

_Ikkaku! Where are you?!_

Never again would he see that manic grin on Ikkaku's face as he entered a battle. Never again would he hear the challenge in Ikkaku's voice as he taunted an opponent, friend or foe, in a badly-disguised attempt to push them into attacking him with everything they had. Never again would the training grounds resonate with the angry yells of the frustrated third seat. Never again would fukutaichou run throughout the Division, shouting for "Pachinko Head" at the top of her voice...

When night came, and Yumichika went home all alone, he would wrap himself into one of the many colourful yukata and kimono that Ikkaku had bought him over the decades, he would sit on the gallery under the stars, and he would pour himself a cup of hot, strong tea - not sake, never sake, no matter how well he could hold it. And then, he would spend the entire evening trying to focus on some organisational problem to solve within the Division, or on how to improve the training drills, or even on how to convince the lieutenant to properly attend and report from her vice-captain meetings - anything that could occupy his mind and prevent him from remembering what, _who_, was cruelly missing from his life at the moment.

He had already lost count of how many times he had almost fallen asleep on the gallery - almost only, because there was no way he would allow such a blatant sign of distress from actually happening, even if it only meant dragging himself inside the front door and drifting away into a cold, shivering and uneasy slumber right there and then. He was spending more nights on the hard floor than in his bed lately, but this suited him just fine: the very thought of his - _their_ - futon brought far too many new "never again"s to his mind...

Never again would he feel Ikkaku's large, strong hands crawling up his hips and stomach in a silent request, preferably just as Yumichika was about to fall asleep. Never again would he taste Ikkaku's demanding mouth or smell that furiously intoxicating scent of his. Never again would he run his hands on the warrior's bald scalp and smile in appreciation. And never, _never again_ would he be pinned under Ikkaku's tall, muscled, heavy body as they made rough, passionate love in the middle of the night... Damn futon, sitting there all neatly rolled-up, looking perfectly innocent even as it beckoned and made promises it could never keep ever again!

"Never again": those words tore at his mind and heart, relentlessly, every hour of every day, as detail after detail of what used to be his and Ikkaku's life popped up in front of him and reminded him of what he had lost. Everything, _everything_ carried Ikkaku's memory in one way or the other, from the people he met, to the papers he filled, the drills he led, the quarters he lived in, and even the way others called him. Every time he heard "Ayasegawa-sanseki", he felt like some carefully stitched scar was being ripped open anew deep inside him. He managed never to cry on the outside, but his soul had already spilt hundreds of those burning, searing, scorching tears of blood, one by one, slowly, day after night after day...

_... Ikkaku..._

To anyone who asked, or worse, was foolish enough to offer him their condolences, Yumichika made a point of haughtily and cheerfully explaining once more the way those things were handled in the Zaraki Squads. Ikkaku had been lucky enough to experience the very best kind of death anyone in the Eleventh Division could ever hope for: he had died in battle, giving his very best against an adversary who was genuinely stronger than he was. Yumichika had not been there, but when he had arrived to collect Ikkaku's broken body, the first thing he had noticed, before the blood, before the spilled guts, before the missing limbs and oddly shaped spine, had been the triumphant grin on the proud warrior's face. Ikkaku had died exactly as he had wanted to, and this was something to be celebrated, not mourned!

Life went on - it was _supposed_ to go on. Yumichika was still alive, and he knew Ikkaku would have wanted him to enjoy this. He knew he should be moving on, he should be making the best of what he had, to honour Ikkaku's memory, and to be true to the ideals of the Division they had served together for so long. Just because he did not feel like he could ever be happy again, did not mean that he had to let it show. He would pretend, once more. He was a master at pretending after all, was he not? Nobody needed to know otherwise. And those who did suspect, well, he could just ignore them; sooner or later, they would leave him alone.

Alone.

All alone.

_IKKAKU! Where are you!? Why did you leave me alone? How could you bring me here, how could you TRAP me here, and then leave me alone? COME BACK AND FIX THIS, YOU BASTARD!!_

Ikkaku was not the first lover Yumichika had ever had, not by far, but he had unwittingly done something none of the previous ones had ever accomplished. The others, upon dying, had always left Yumichika more or less in the same situation they had found him in: alone in Rukongai - sometimes poorer, sometimes richer, but always alone with only his zanpakutou to keep him company, always aimless, and always in Rukongai. This time, however, Yumichika had friends and colleagues surrounding him, he had a job to keep him occupied and to force a rhythm onto his empty days, and he had a home in Seireitei. Ikkaku had actually taken him _somewhere_, and without meaning to, had ensured that he would have a direction to follow once he disappeared - but strangely enough, this only made everything harder on Yumichika.

Was Ikkaku really gone, if he still had such an influence on Yumichika's life? How could Yumichika properly get over him, when the very air he breathed seemed to smell of Ikkaku? How could he move on, when everything in his life had been molded by Ikkaku in some way? If he had been back all alone on some street of Rukongai, he would have known exactly what to do, he would have known what to expect, and even _when_ to expect it. As things were now though, he was lost, utterly and perfectly lost. How would he ever manage to leave Ikkaku behind, if the very mention of his _own_ name and rank was enough to yank him right back by his deceased lover's side? This had never happened before, with any of his previous partners, and Yumichika was beginning to fear that maybe, just maybe, he would never find an exit to this nightmare, and he would lose his mind before he managed to mend his heart...

**** End of chapter one ****

**A/N:**

- prompt table was stolen from the 50ficlets community on LiveJournal

- I'm in need of a language beta, to check on my grammar, vocabulary and so on. British English preferred. If anyone feels like volunteering, please let me know!


	2. Fast Forward

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach nor its characters, and I am making no money from writing this fic.

***

**Chapter Two: Fast Forward**

"You were late again for vice-captain's meeting."

"... Yeah."

There had been no accusation or reproach in Iba-san's voice, but Shuuhei almost wished his friend had been angry at him rather than so clearly worried about him. What could he say? "I lost track of time.... again"? "I didn't want to go"? "I think something's wrong with me"? Iba-san already knew all of that.

Shuuhei winced when his friend tentatively started again:

"Look, Hisagi-"

Shuuhei cut him off:

"I'm sorry, Iba-san. It won't happen again."

Unfortunately, his colleague seemed intent on not being deterred tonight.

"That's already what you said last week."

Shuuhei scowled; did Iba _have_ to remind him of that? He kept his gaze stubbornly fixed on the stars above as the other continued:

"You've been trying to deal with this on your own and I've let you do that so far, but obviously it's not working..."

Shuuhei kept silent once again; what could he say anyway? He knew Iba was right, but he had no idea what to do about it.

"Sometimes... Sometimes the first step to solving a problem is to _talk_ about it..."

Shuuhei scoffed; what was there to talk about? More sharply than he had meant to, he retorted:

"You already know everything there is to know, don't you?"

He heard his friend sigh.

"That's not the point, Hisagi. The point is for you to _say_ it, to stop those thoughts from turning round and round in your head, by putting words to them."

Shuuhei gritted his teeth. He did not _want_ to verbalise his thoughts; he was not sure he could endure hearing them spoken out loud... And even if he did decide to talk about it all, _how_ was he going to do that? Words would never be enough... Words could never_... _They could never even begin to...

To his horror, his heart broke when Iba's voice rose again, very softly, into the night air:

"Hinamori..."

His teeth ground together in a desperate attempt to block the flow of emotions as his friend relentlessly continued:

"Abarai..."

The stars in the sky became blurred as his throat tightened painfully.

"Tousen..."

His shoulders trembled and he had to squeeze his eyes tightly shut as a sob finally overcame him.

"... and that Vizard business with Muguruma-taichou."

Helplessly, he pulled his knees up, laid his forehead on them, wrapped his arms around his shins, and let the tears flow out in great, desperate, shaking sobs. His life, his whole life had come apart, and he had almost nothing left to cling on to anymore...

Iba-san, having accomplished what he had meant to, remained mercifully silent after that, sitting quietly by his side as he emptied himself of all the accumulated hurt, shock and disbelief he had collected over the last few months. How, _how_ could _everything_ have gone so bad so quickly? How could almost everything he had ever hung on to, have turned into ash between his fingers so easily? Had his_ whole _life been nothing more than a sham based on lies?

His childhood hero, the man he had sworn so long ago to serve and honour with his life, the man whose symbol he had had engraved into his very skin for everyone to see, the man he had been told had died heroically while defending Soul Society against powerful Hollows - that man was himself some kind of Hollow! He was no better than those Arrancar Shuuhei had fought and destroyed mercilessly. How could this be?

And how could his _other_ heroes have been the cause for this monstrous transformation? Aizen and Ichimaru, his Academy saviours, and Tousen, the wise and respected captain he had been so deeply, intensely proud to serve under - all three of them had been nothing more than insane psychopaths, who had turned on those who loved and worshipped them without a second thought. How, _how_? In what world could such a thing happen?

Sometimes, late at night, Shuuhei wished Tousen had managed to kill him after all, just like Aizen had eventually succeeded in killing Hinamori-kun. It would have been so much easier to be dead than to live through this nightmare... It was a weak, pathetic and cowardly wish, Shuuhei knew that, but he still could not shake the feeling that the dead had had it easier than the survivors in this whole debacle. Abarai-kun, for example, had never had to deal with Kuchiki Rukia's death, and she in turn had been blessed enough to pass on before learning of the eventual demise of the ryoka boy. Hitsugaya-taichou was another one who had been lucky to die before discovering that one of his most precious treasures had been destroyed forever...

The survivors most certainly had not had it so easy.

Rangiku-san, left all alone without neither her childhood friend nor her captain by her side... Kira-kun, deprived of his best friend and long-time crush, even as he had to deal with decades of systematic psychological destruction at Ichimaru's hands... Kotsubaki-san, _de facto_ in charge of the entire Thirteenth Division now that both his beloved captain and his no-less-loved co-third-seat were gone... The entire Fifth Division, left leader-less after the murder of their lieutenant by their captain... Kyouraku-taichou, who almost never left his private quarters anymore and never seemed to be anything other than thoroughly drunk, unable as he was to deal with the disappearance of both his precious "Nanao-chan" and his even more dear "Jyuu-chan", as well as the shocking revelation of what had become of his former darling "Risa-chan"...

Yes, the dead definitely had been the lucky ones.

They did not have to walk through the shambles of their former lives. They did not have to wonder how much of what they had once held to be true and good had in fact been a lie. They did not have to try to make sense of what defied all the known rules in the universe. And they did not have to deal with the _absence, _the cruel, unrelenting, inescapable absence...

Shuuhei had once thought of himself as "strong enough": strong enough to deal with whatever life threw at him, strong enough to be a support for others, strong enough never to be a burden to anyone, and definitely strong enough inside to always know good from evil, and right from wrong. He thought he knew what he wanted, he thought he knew what he believed, he thought he knew who and what he could depend on to guide him and inspire him.

But it had all been a lie.

_Nothing_ had been like it had seemed. The values he had founded his morality on had been a web of deception carefully woven around him to entrap him and paralyse him. The people he had allowed himself to depend on had all worn masks - in some cases, literally - to hide their true natures and better exploit him and his weaknesses, better abuse his strengths and abilities. Even the very organisation he had devoted his time and talents to had turned out to be rotten all the way to its core, condemning innocents to death, sparing criminals, blinding itself to its own shortcomings, and refusing to compensate for its critical failures - it was nothing short of a miracle that Aizen had not won in the end, everybody knew that...

... So what was he going to do now? He had nothing left to fight for, no principles to uphold, no heroes to serve. He would help rebuild Seireitei, but what then? He would make sure that his Division remained in one coherent piece, but to what purpose? He would be there for the few friends he still had left, but he would never be able to take away the pain of the intimate and ultimate treasons they had endured. And what did he have left to look forward to for himself? There was nobody left he wanted to emulate, no value he dared believe in, nothing and nobody of worth to which he wanted to dedicate his life - he was useless.

Useless. Pointless. Worthless. A weapon with no warrior to wield it, a tool with no artisan to use it, a force with nothing to control it. He had been abandoned and now he was decaying, rusting away with nobody to sharpen him, to keep him in good working order, to protect him from the elements and from the passage of time.

He was crumbling under the weight of his own uselessness, and he had no idea how to halt this disintegration. All he needed was a valuable goal to attain, a worthy endeavour to which he could devote his existence – but try as he might, there simply did not seem to be any such purposes to be found in his life anymore.

**** End of chapter two ****

**A/N: **

* Many huge thanks to Vivienne Grainger for volunteering to beta :)

* It won't all be angst, I promise! Things will get better soon.


	3. TwoFaced

**A/N**: as far as I know, canon has not firmly stated one way or the other whether Ikkaku and Yumichika ever went to the Academy (please someone tell me if they know any better). In this story, I chose to make them go.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Bleach nor its characters, and I am making no money from writing this fic.

***

**Chapter Three: Two-Faced**

Yumichika tensed as he felt the expected reiatsu approaching; he was not looking forward to the minutes to come. He did not move from his kneeling position as the other shinigami came to sit cross-legged on the other side of the low table, in a discreet corner of this quiet Rukongai bar. He waited while the other man made a sign to order another of whatever Yumichika was having, before inclining his head and quietly greeting him with:

"Iba-taichou."

There was no emotion in the captain's voice when he replied:

"It's Tetsu to you, Yumichika, you know that."

Yumichika smiled softly; yes he knew, but he also knew that things had changed. Surely Iba-taichou must understand that as well. A waiter came to serve his tea to the captain, and both shinigami sipped their drinks in silence for a few minutes. Eventually, Iba-taichou asked in a neutral voice:

"So?"

Yumichika repressed a sigh. His friend was not going to be happy...

"I carefully considered it, just like you asked me..."

"... And?"

"It's a very generous offer, Iba-tai-"

"You're not taking it."

It was not a question, merely a statement. Nor was there any anger or resentment in Iba's tone, just a subtle resignation. Yumichika smiled softly again, before confirming in an apologetic voice:

"No, I'm not taking it."

He tensed once more; was Iba-taichou going to make things harder on both of them by asking what was, in the end, a rather stupid question?

"Why?"

He sighed. It seemed like the confrontation he had hoped to avoid was going to have to take place after all. Plastering a false bright smile on his face, he shot back:

"Why did you offer me this position in the first place?"

He knew he had hit straight home when Iba-taichou sipped some more tea in silence instead of answering. Yumichika gave him a few moments before continuing:

"It's not about my abilities or my experience, is it? The fact that I am actually reasonably qualified to become a vice-captain is only a bonus, isn't it? It's not the true reason you made me that offer."

He hesitated slightly before concluding:

"The fact that nobody else came to me clearly proves this."

There - he had said his piece. Hopefully, Iba-taichou would not be stubborn enough to keep arguing, he would spare Yumichika the humiliation of having to spell the unpleasant truth out...

He grimaced when the other man only said, in a strangely bored tone:

"So that's it? You're going to let your pride rule you over after all? ... I expected better from you, after... After."

Yumichika gritted his teeth as anger bubbled in his belly. How did that man _dare_...? He had to refrain from spitting his answer out - such an ugly reaction was not befitting of someone like him, someone he wanted to be:

"My pride is all I have left!"

"... You'd have to be an idiot to think that, and I know you're no idiot."

Yumichika stared in astonishment, and could only listen dumbly as Iba-taichou went on:

"If you would just stop judging yourself through other people's ridiculous standards, and take a good, objective look at yourself, you'd see just how much you have working for you. You're strong, you're smart, you're talented, and you've got tons of valuable experience. Anybody would be glad to have you as their vice-captain if you weren't such a pain in the ass, and you wouldn't be such a pain in the ass if you stopped trying to be what you're not."

Yumichika opened his mouth to protest, but Iba cut him off with a wave of the hand:

"No! I kept quiet all those years, but if you're gonna be stupid enough to spit on a chance to move on with your life even when it's offered to you on a silver plate, then I'll say my stuff and you're gonna listen, for once!"

Oh really? Yumichika did not think so. Silently, he started to stand up, fully intent on leaving the place without a further word. He had forgotten one detail, though, and he froze as the other man whispered:

"Sit. Down. Ayasegawa-sanseki."

Through the shocked numbness in his mind, Yumichika realised with a jolt of mirthless amusement that his own attitude had come back to bite him after all... He knelt down once more, and proceeded to carefully examine this tea cup from all possible angles even as he tried to drown out Iba-taichou's words.

"I don't like what I'm going to say, Yumichika, but I know that nobody else will say it, and it has to be said... Ikkaku was a great guy, but he was also a bit of an idiot when he wanted to be. And you, by trying to emulate him, you're making an even bigger idiot out of yourself. You're not Ikkaku, you're not Zaraki, or even Yachiru."

Try as he might, Yumichika could not help but feel the heat of shame burning his cheeks at those last words. He knew that! He knew all of that. He knew he was not, and would never be, Ikkaku or Zaraki's equal. Why did Iba-taichou have to remind him of that?

Obviously, the other man noticed his embarrassment:

"Idiot! I'm not saying that you're below them or anything!"

Yumichika could not help but look up in surprise.

"You're not better or worse than they are, Yumichika. You're just different."

Yumichika frowned. That did not make any sense... He heard Iba-taichou let out a sigh of open frustration:

"You're so used to judging yourself by their standards, you can't even see how limited your view is anymore."

Yumichika shook his head: "Their standards are my standards."

Iba-taichou snorted. "Oh really? I don't remember them being concerned over beauty."

Yumichika winced once more. Iba continued:

"Yeah, so much for having similar standards, huh? Even decades of mindlessly regurgitating Zaraki's philosophy could not root your true passion out, could it? I wonder: do you consider this a failure on your part too?"

That question came as a huge shock to Yumichika's already highly confused mind. A failure? His love for beauty? No! Of course not! How could Iba-taichou ever think that?

The other man smirked, but his voice was gentle when he explained:

"See what I mean? You're not them, Yumichika, you're you, and there's nothing wrong with that. You don't have to be them. You should just try to be the best you can be."

"But... that's what I'm trying to do."

His voice had come out in a whisper. He was too unsure of himself to put any strength in his words. He closed his eyes as Iba-taichou mercilessly unscrewed the last bolts holding his shaky convictions together:

"How could you do that, when you don't even know who you are anymore?"

He wanted to scream, he wanted to claw at his ears, he wanted to run away and dismiss the monstrous uncertainty Iba-taichou had managed to stir in his heart with just a few questions. He desperately wanted to tell the other man that he was wrong, that he knew nothing of what he was talking about, that he knew nothing about him, Yumichika, but... If that were true, then surely Iba-taichou's words would not ring so incredibly true to Yumichika's ears, would they?

Who _was_ he? What did he truly believe in? What did he want for himself, what did he want from life? He... he did not know.

He listened once more as his friend whispered:

"I won't insist that you take my offer. You're not ready for that yet. But I think it's time you started working on reconstructing yourself in your own way, Yumichika. You have so much to offer, if only you stopped holding yourself back... Promise me you'll do that, please?"

"... How?"

It was a sign of his desperation, he knew it, that this should be his only question. He did not care anymore, though.

"Well... "

There was a sudden hesitation in Iba's voice which made Yumichika open his eyes again and look at him in wonder. He watched as the captain scratched his neck before staring straight at him and asking bluntly:

"Don't you ever miss kidou?"

Yumichika felt his mind grow numb as a shockwave rippled through him. Kidou? What...? He closed his eyes again as a small, horribly painful flame of longing ignited deep within his soul. Kidou... A flow of memories - beautiful, hated memories - overwhelmed him: the thrill of controlling his own reiatsu, the amazement of feeling power rush through his limbs, the poetry of the incantations, and the awe that would fill him whenever he attained a perfect result... So many decades had passed since he had left the Academy - and kidou - behind, and yet, he had never stopped longing, no, _mourning_, for it...

In a whisper, he asked:

"What do you have in mind, exactly?"

**** End of chapter three ****


	4. Finding Out

**A/N**:  
* No, Yamada-sensei is not supposed to be related to anyone :)  
* I don't think the 9th Division is ever officially mentioned as specialising in investigations in canon, but between the fact that they run the Seireitei News and the fact that it was that Division which was sent to investigate the soul disappearances in Rukongai during the Turn Back The Pendulum arc, I don't think it's too far-fetched of a characterisation.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Bleach nor its characters, and I am making no money from writing this fic.

***

**Chapter Four – Finding Out**

Shuuhei started slightly as Iba-san's reiatsu flickered back into existence not very far away from him at all. So he was right: his friend _had_ been hiding, and apparently within his own Division's grounds too...

"Hisagi? Wasn't expecting you this late."

"Been waiting for an hour."

The night was beautiful, calm and balmy, and on any other day, Shuuhei might have enjoyed the long moment of solitude, sitting all alone under the appearing stars on Iba's home's deserted gallery. Not tonight, though: he had fretfully looked for his friend earlier, but nobody, not even the vice-captain he had run into in Iba's office, had been able to tell him where the captain had gone.

"... Ah. Sorry about that."

Shuuhei shook his head; Iba-san had no duty to be available for him whenever Shuuhei felt like it. Still, he could not help but ask:

"Where were you?"

The question was slightly intrusive, but Shuuhei was not used to Iba-san keeping secrets, and the unusual circumstances intrigued him. Iba's very obvious attempt at a dismissal only increased his curiosity:

"Was giving a lesson, nothing important."

Shuuhei could not stop the automatic inquiry from shooting out of his lips - as the editor-in-chief of the Seireitei News, he could never quite turn his probing mind off entirely, even around his friends.

"Giving a lesson?"

Iba scowled as he sat heavily next to him:

"Yeah. Trying to anyway. I'm a lousy teacher, lemme tell you that!... Well, anyway, I guess you wanna talk about this morning, right?"

Shuuhei felt his spirits plummet back instantly as he shook his head once more.

"No."

Iba raised an eyebrow: "Oh?"

Shuuhei shrugged and mumbled:

"What is there to talk about? We need to know more about the Vizards, and I'm the head of the Investigation Teams, so it's logical that I'd be given that mission."

He knew he sounded particularly mechanical and unconvincing, and he was not surprised when his friend snorted softly.

"So everything's just fine in the best of worlds, huh?"

Shuuhei sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"No, of course not... You have no idea how happy I'd be if I could just forget everything about this whole Hollowification business. I've been doing my best not to think about it since the War, and now... It's been on my mind all day long, and when it's not that, it's Kira, or Rangiku-san, or bankai! I feel like I'm going crazy!"

He grunted in frustration and dragged a hand through his hair.

"Look, I really don't want to talk about any of this. That's why I came here in fact. Think you can help me take my mind off of that whole mess for just an hour or two?"

Iba-san kept quiet for a few moments before saying slowly:

"Hmm, maybe. Come with me."

Together, they stood up and quickly made their way through the darkened, already sleepy Division, to the captain's office. Iba-san pulled a file from a locked drawer in his desk and handed it to Shuuhei before going off to prepare some tea for both of them.

"Here, Top Detective, take a look at that and tell me what you think of it."

Shuuhei settled himself on the floor and started spreading the sheets around him.

"Copies of someone's Academy records... The name is systematically blotted out. Lemme guess: you didn't obtain those officially, did you?"

Iba did not answer and Shuuhei chuckled to himself before continuing.

"Relatively old records too: some of those teachers have been retired or even dead for a while. I'd say... About a hundred years ago or so?"

Iba-san grunted a confirmation while bringing a tea tray to his desk. Shuuhei carefully took the cup he was handed, and set it aside before giving the records another look.

"A rather brilliant student, whoever they were. The teachers are all fawning over them... Excellent marks in zanjutsu... Brilliant in hohou... And hakuda... Oho! Look at that! Massive fail in kid- uh, wait a minute..."

Shuuhei frowned; something was off - _very_ off. He picked up a few sheets and examined them closely.

"Well, that's odd. Yamada-sensei has no words strong enough to praise that student's abilities and results in kidou, and yet they systematically fail their tests right from... What the Hell? What's going on here?"

Shuuhei stared silently at one particular record before looking up at Iba-san and explaining:

"That doesn't make any sense. That guy, or girl, whatever, they were dead good in kidou in their first year, acing all their tests, until about eight months in when they started failing every single exam! That's... that's ridiculous."

Iba only nodded before asking:

"Your conclusion?"

Shuuhei hesitated - what he was about to say sounded rather insane...

"Self-sabotage. For some unknown reason, this person _wanted_ to fail kidou, no matter how good at it they were."

He had half-expected Iba-san to laugh at him but the other captain actually smirked approvingly.

"My conclusion too. You certainly live up to your rank of leader of the Investigation Teams. Now, if I told you that about six to seven months after entering the Academy, that particular student started hanging out with their future Division mates, what would you say?"

Shuuhei frowned. How was this supposed to help?

"I don't see how that could have influenced them. I mean, unless those shinigami told them tha-"

Understanding suddenly flooded his mind as a particular memory came back to him, and he heard himself gasp before whispering:

"The Eleventh. Those shinigami were from the Eleventh Division."

Once more, Iba-san nodded. "Go on."

Shuuhei bit his lip. It all made sense now, and he was quite sure he knew exactly whose Academy files those were - all the details fitted just fine. He wavered for a moment, before squarely facing his friend and asking in a low but firm tone:

"Ayasegawa. That's him, right?"

Iba-san did not answer and Shuuhei knew he had guessed right. His professional reflexes taking over once more, he asked automatically:

"What tipped you off?"

Iba shrugged:

"Who do you think reviewed his file when he was assigned to the Eleventh?"

Shuuhei frowned as he picked his cup up and sipped some of the fragrant, hot tea. Yes, now that he thought about it, he remembered that Iba had told him he had become third seat shortly after Zaraki's take-over, which meant he would have been in that position when Madarame and Ayasegawa had arrived. It was also not hard to guess that neither Zaraki nor Yachiru would have been interested in going over the Academy records of whichever new recruits they got, so Iba would have been the one in charge of that task. Which in turn implied... Shuuhei coughed slightly when he reached a particular conclusion:

"You've known all along."

"... Yeah."

Shuuhei stared at his friend in wonder. He was mildly surprised: Iba had known that Ayasegawa was lying about his abilities, that he was deliberately weakening himself and consequently his Division and the entire Gotei 13, and yet he had done nothing about it. This did not sound like the responsible, principled officer Shuuhei knew. He watched in slight confusion as his friend shrugged again:

"What was I supposed to do? They were together, remember?"

Shuuhei looked away as more memories of his fight on the rooftops came back to him. Ayasegawa had pleaded with him not to tell Zaraki _or_ Madarame; it was not just his captain that the fifth seat strove so hard to please. Shuuhei figured he could understand why Iba had not had the heart of calling the brand-new recruit on his lies: the man might have been kicked out of the Division if the truth had been revealed, he would have been separated from his lover, and after all he had done to stay by his side, too...

"Hisagi?"

"Hmm?"

"How did he beat you?"

Shuuhei scowled and carefully, deliberately sipped some more tea. He could not answer that question and he prayed that his friend would drop it...

"You can't tell me, huh?"

"..."

"I see... I've been thinking about it, you know. He obviously didn't use his shikai, because you didn't have a scratch on you when I saw you next... And I really doubt he's got bankai..."

Shuuhei hesitated. Iba-san seemed intent on ferreting the truth out no matter what, and he already knew or suspected a lot... Maybe there were ways to share information that would not require Shuuhei to actually break his promise? Slowly, he spoke to his tea cup:

"He doesn't have bankai as far as I know, and Fuji Kujaku never laid a blade on me."

That was as much as he could say. It was up to his friend to guess the rest. Quickly and quietly, he asked:

"Why do you want to know anyway?"

"... He's another friend of mine in need of help, even if he doesn't want to admit it."

_Just like you._ Shuuhei smiled wryly, before starting a little at the next, unexpected question:

"Wanna help?"

He frowned: he did not mind helping Iba-san, of course not, but helping Ayasegawa was another matter entirely. He was already opening his mouth to decline, when the other captain mentioned, almost casually:

"Might help keep your mind off of... _things_."

Shuuhei meekly closed his mouth again. He was smart enough to recognise when he had been neatly and properly out-played. Iba-san was perfectly right: Shuuhei had not thought of the Vizards or any of his other problems even once since they had entered this office. With a sigh of defeat, he inquired:

"How?"

His friend grinned from ear to ear:

"Well, I'm glad you asked!"

**** End of chapter 04 ****


	5. Give And Take

**A/N**: This might be a little confusing: I absolutely love Kujaku's design in the current anime Zanpakutou arc, even if I don't consider it canon. Since I can't use this design in my Saga (it just couldn't fit), I figured I'd use it here. However, I ditched the murderous hate that the zanpakutou spirits express towards their masters in the anime, because this hate, though it works well for the filler arc, simply wouldn't make sense in 'normal' times. So basically: this Kujaku LOOKS like the one in the anime, but he doesn't ACT like him.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Bleach nor its characters, and I am making no money from writing this fic.

***

**Chapter 05 - Give & Take**

"Kujaku!"

He deliberately ignored his shinigami's voice, only huddling deeper within the confines of the broken pagoda. Yumichika would never find him up here.

"Dammit! Ruri'iro Kujaku, show yourself! It's been a week already. A _week_! This is getting ridiculous!"

Ridiculous? Yes, Kujaku supposed it looked that way, but he did not care. One week may be far longer than any sulking he had ever done before, but in this case, it was not nearly long enough, not by a very long shot.

"Come on! Can't we talk this out?"

Kujaku snorted silently: he knew all about Yumichika's idea of 'talking things over'. All it meant was that Yumichika decreed how things were going to be, and Kujaku had to accept them eventually. They were shinigami and zanpakutou, master and slave, user and tool - they had never been equals and they never would be.

There had been a time when Ruri'iro Kujaku had thought that maybe, if he sacrificed enough to Yumichika's desires, then his shinigami would give him something in return. Maybe if he consented to this aberrant dumbed-down version of his beautiful shikai, Yumichika would eventually relent and agree to fully use him once more. Maybe if he was patient and showed enough understanding, Yumichika would one day find the courage to tell Ikkaku about Kujaku's true nature. Maybe...

Maybe nothing. Kujaku gave, Yumichika took, and that was the end of it.

Kujaku did not even have the luxury of holding his bankai over Yumichika's head, as other zanpakutou did, because Yumichika did not _want_ Kujaku's bankai anyway! What would he do with a kidou bankai? It would only make it harder to hide his real powers. So Kujaku was left defenceless, with no cards in his hands and no ace up his sleeve.

And now this...

"Come on! Is it really such a big deal?"

Kujaku could have cried at the sheer cruelty of that question. _Yes, yes you moron, it IS such a big deal, but it's not like you care, is it?_

"Kujaku, please... How can I understand if you don't explain?"

Yumichika was pleading now and as always, Kujaku felt his resolve slip, notch by notch. So many centuries he had spent alongside Yumichika, sharing in his pains and joys, encouraging him when the road got rough, admiring him as he became stronger and more powerful with every passing decade... He knew his master inside out, he knew his fears and limitations, his needs and weaknesses. And he was profoundly, thoroughly, completely in love with him.

Oh, not in a sexual or even romantic way, no, not at all! He was in love with Yumichika's soul, his bravery in the face of defeat, his devotion in the face of betrayal, his idealism in the face of... well, everything life and death had thrown at him over the centuries, really. Underneath his layers of learned sophistication, Yumichika was a quiet, simple soul, a flickering candle flame which refused to die no matter how hard the wind blew on it, and Ruri'iro Kujaku was unspeakably proud of him. He would happily give his own life to save Yumichika's, he would always do everything in his power to protect and support him, this was his honour and his pleasure as his zanpakutou spirit.

Watching his beloved master torture himself, on the other hand, was his personal nightmare, and being forced to participate in this mutilation made him want to claw his eyes and rip his hair and feathers out, one by one, as slowly and as painfully as possible.

"Kujaku... Please."

Yumichika's voice was no more than a whisper this time, but it carried perfectly through the stillness of the air - and it certainly did a very nice job of breaking Kujaku's heart once more. He could not stand hurting his precious master, he could not bear to make him sad. They fought often, much too often, throwing angry, painful words at each other, but Kujaku always ended up hating himself whenever one of his insults hit home in Yumichika and something broke deep down within those beautiful purple eyes.

With a resigned sigh and the sure knowledge that he was sealing his inevitable defeat, Kujaku stood up and jumped down from the top of the broken tower. He had to be careful, as the ground was covered in debris from all the crumbling monuments and fallen trees around - mighty earthquakes had relentlessly shaken Yumichika's inner garden for weeks following the end of the Aizen War, and neither of them had found the strength to start rebuilding since then.

Kujaku kept his eyes averted; he really did not want to look at Yumichika, to see what kind of expression was painted on his master's perfect face. Whether it was smugness at having managed to tease Kujaku out of his hiding place after all, anger that it had taken so long, confusion as to why it had even happened, or - heavens forbid - sadness that they should have had such a fallout in the first place, Kujaku did not want to know. He just wanted Yumichika to say his piece, whatever it may be, and to leave him alone, defeated and ignored once more.

He shivered violently when thin, strong arms encircled him from behind, and a head came to rest on his shoulder. It had been so long since they had touched each other outside of fights, he had almost forgotten what Yumichika's reiatsu felt like against his skin, or how sweet the short, free hair smelled... He had to force himself to breathe deeply and slowly when his master's voice lifted gently in the air, almost right next to his ear:

"Kujaku? ... I'm sorry."

Treacherous tears burned his eyes and ran down his cheeks... Those words... he had dreamt of those words so often...

Yumichika hugged him a bit tighter:

"I'm sorry. I didn't know it meant so much to you."

Kujaku's voice was nowhere as sharp and acerbic as he would have wanted it to be when he retorted:

"How could you have known? It's not like kidou could matter much to a kidou-type zanpakutou, could it?"

He felt Yumichika hesitate behind him - and to his own shame, he found himself leaning back into the embrace. _Don't let go of me, please, don't let go of me just yet..._

Yumichika's voice was decidedly unsure when he replied:

"You didn't throw such a fit when I gave it up last time..."

Kujaku hung his head:

"It was different back then... You had... him, and I had hope."

And now they had neither. Yumichika's chin dug into Kujaku's shoulder as the shinigami commented simply:

"I see."

Desperately, hopelessly, Kujaku continued:

"I know you wish I were another type. Even I wish I were another type if that would make you happy... I've tried, I've done my best... I gave you that false shikai. I know it's lame, but it's really the best I can do, I swear!"

Yumichika hugged him tight once more. Kujaku's voice was choked when he finished:

"I'm a kidou-type and I'll always be a kidou-type. I _love_ kidou, Yumichika! You don't know what it's like for me when you use kidou. It's the most beautiful sensation I've ever felt. So when you accepted to try it again... I hadn't been this happy in so long, I can't even remember the last time I felt like that! ... And then..."

His voice broke and he let his head hang again. He did not even try to resist when Yumichika turned him around, took his head between his hands and leant forward till their foreheads touched, before whispering:

"I'm sorry. I didn't realise. I never meant to hurt you... I'll try again, if you want me to."

Kujaku looked up in surprise, barely daring to believe what he was hearing. Yumichika going back over a decision he had made was unheard of in their relationship, so surely he did not mean what he was saying, did he?

The wet look in the purple eyes, and the soft, sad smile on Yumichika's lips, stilled Kujaku's questions, and he could only listen as his master explained further:

"It's been three weeks already and I can't even do a proper Byakurai yet... I've lost my magic, I've lost the touch, I just know it, and I really don't think that any more training is going to help... But if you want me to try again, then I will. You've given me so much, I can do that for you, right?"

Kujaku smiled gratefully through his tears, and waited, unmoving, as his master gave him one last hug, and then disappeared from his world.

So miracles _did_ happen after all...

**** End of chapter five ****


	6. Hit Or Miss

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Bleach nor its characters, and I am making no money from writing this fic.

**A/N**: Shou (Thrust) is Hadou no.1. Byakurai (Pale Lightning) is Hadou no. 4.

*******

**  
****Chapter 06 - Hit or Miss**

Shuuhei scowled and looked away as his 'student' entered the deserted training field at the back of the Seventh Division. He waited, eyes locked on the ground, as Iba-san cast the dissimulating kidou charms around the area; nobody would be able to see them, or to penetrate the shields, even accidentally - and all of that just to protect Ayasegawa from the possibility of his stupidly prejudiced Division mates learning about his oh-so-shameful activities. It honestly annoyed Shuuhei quite a lot to have been persuaded to teach kidou to someone who did not even have the courage and decency to defend the technique to his own colleagues.

"Hisagi-taichou, Iba-taichou."

The third seat's tone was gracious, but Shuuhei knew better than to take this at face value: he was only too aware that the man was a snake, who could smile at people while literally draining them of their life force.

"Yo, Yumichika, good to see you! I wasn't too sure you'd show up, after last week..."

Ayasegawa did not answer Iba-san's greeting and Shuuhei could not help but look at him from the corner of his eyes. The new arrival had a smiling but closed expression on his face: something was off, Shuuhei could clearly feel it. He could also see that the third seat was bothered by Shuuhei's presence, even if he was far too polite to openly complain or enquire about it. Iba-san seemed oblivious to all of this as he continued:

"I think you and I can agree that I'm a poor teacher, so I found you a real one. Hisagi here's done miracles on some recruits who were having problems, and he's agreed to help."

Shuuhei scowled some more at those last words and noticed that even Ayasegawa was frowning a little now. Clearly, the third seat was no more enthused by the new arrangement than Shuuhei himself was, nor did he seem to have been warned about it beforehand. It looked like they had both been manipulated into this, and neither of them was happy with the situation, which did not bode well for the lessons to come. Undeterred but, as it turned out, clearly not unaware, Iba went on:

"So I hope you guys give it your best, okay? I'll be checking on both of you tomorrow to see how things went."

His tone of voice had not changed, and yet the warning in it was unmistakable: he had not gone to all this trouble just for the two of them to mess everything up through sheer bad will. Shuuhei sighed inwardly; he would not disappoint his friend. He would put his most sincere effort into this awkward venture, if only out of gratitude for all the help Iba had dispensed him over the decades and most especially those last few months. Still, once his friend had departed with one last wave of the hand, Shuuhei was left with a carefully guarded, even subtly hostile student on his hands, who was no longer bothering to smile and apparently rather wished to be somewhere else.

Great.

He sighed and scratched his head before asking:

"Where shall we start?"

The other man remained irritatingly silent and unmoving and Shuuhei gritted his teeth. He took a deep breath - he could do this, he had dealt with nervous charges before - and prodded some more :

"How about you show me what you've learnt so far?"

There was a barely noticeable twitch in the third seat's face and hands before he answered in a monotonous voice:

"I know the incantations to all hadou and bakudou spells up to level fifty, and most of the others..."

Ayasegawa hesitated and looked away. Recognising the evasive behaviour, Shuuhei asked gently:

"Can you demonstrate a Shou for me?"

He instantly realised his mistake when his student's eyes narrowed while his jaws visibly clenched. This was, Shuuhei silently berated himself, a seasoned Eleventh Division's officer he was talking to, not one of his usual inexperienced recruits. Ayasegawa would not take well to being coddled, quite the contrary, and Shuuhei had better keep this in mind.

He observed patiently as the third seat raised his hand towards him and frowned in obvious concentration. A spark of bright blue light appeared at the end of the extended index finger, and turned into a small circle which expanded as it coursed through the air towards Shuuhei's chest. The impact was enough to force Shuuhei to take a step back, and yet... He was surprised: the spell had clearly been properly done, and there was undeniable power backing it up, but the effects of it felt... fuzzy, unfocused, almost haphazard. It was a strange sensation and Shuuhei was not quite sure what to make of it.

"Can you..." He stopped himself before starting again, in a sterner voice. "Try again, but say the incantation out loud this time."

The faintest ripple of anger flared out of the other man, but the third seat obeyed the order nonetheless, under Shuuhei's carefully observing eyes. Once again, a blue spark appeared, turned into a circle and rammed into Shuuhei's chest, but if anything, the force of it seemed to be less than before, which made no sense: reciting the incantation always made a spell _more_ powerful, not less... Frowning in concentration, Shuuhei scratched his head and thought hard about the bizarre situation he was facing. The words were right, the moves were right, and the power was undeniably there - so what was missing? He was at a loss; he needed more data. Looking around him, he pointed to a line of crumbling rocks on one side of the training grounds.

"Let's try something else. Cast Byakurai on those."

They went through it several times, first without the spoken incantation and then with it, but Shuuhei's confusion only increased over time. Each beam of Pale Lightning found its target pretty easily, but the results were amazingly inconsistent. Some rocks exploded spectacularly under the force of the attack, while others barely cracked open.

"Are you sure you're doing it the exact same way every time?"

"Yes!"

There was undisguised frustration in the third seat's voice and Shuuhei could not really blame him; he was feeling rather flustered himself. Usually, with his habitual students, the problems were easy to spot: wrong incantation, wrong position, not enough reiatsu gathered and used... But this time, he had no idea what was happening. It was no wonder Iba-san had given up.

He winced mentally as he came to an unpleasant conclusion.

"Look... Obviously the problem is not anywhere I can see it. So I'm gonna have to take a look at where I _can't_ see."

Ayasegawa stared at him with a very puzzled expression on his face, and Shuuhei explained while approaching him slowly:

"We're gonna try again, but this time I'll be monitoring what's happening _inside_ of you."

_"__What?_"

As he had expected, the third seat had instinctively stiffened and pulled back, but Shuuhei did not let this discourage him:

"Relax. I'm just going to check your reiatsu flow, nothing more than that."

Ayasegawa still looked distrustful, but Shuuhei only renewed his resolve not to let the other man's behaviour unnerve him - he was not willing to face Iba-san and confess that he had capitulated just because the third seat had been, well, himself.

"Extend your arm."

His student did as he was told and Shuuhei firmly wrapped his fingers around the naked wrist, ignoring the way it twitched and tried to escape his hold for the shortest of moments. The shivering skin was unusually cold, but he could easily feel the strong, warm, regular reiatsu flowing right under it.

"All right, now cast the spell."

The energy under his hand spiked as Ayasegawa focused his reiatsu in preparation for projecting it, but it then fell into disarray as the third seat started reciting the incantation. Instinctively, Shuuhei stopped him:

"Whoa, wait a minute!"

His student looked at him in surprise. Shuuhei explained:

"Take your time to increase, focus and stabilise your reiatsu before starting to cast the spell."

Ayasegawa frowned but nodded. Once more, the energy in his arm increased - and then decreased, and increased again. Shuuhei heard the third seat swear under his breath and watched him close his eyes. He waited, his hand still wrapped around the other man's wrist, as the powerful flow of reiatsu slowly stabilised - and try as he might, he could not help but be impressed. So much power, and so much control... It was truly a shame that Ayasegawa had not developed his kidou abilities; who knew what he would be capable of by now if he had? Indeed, Shuuhei could begin to understand why Iba-san was so intent on those kidou lessons after all... When the fluctuations finally subsided, he whispered:

"Good. Now go on with the incantation, but keep a tight control on your reiatsu."

This time, Ayasegawa went much more slowly through the spell, as he focused as much on getting the words right as on maintaining the coherency of his energy. The result, though, was spectacular, and both men jumped back in shock as not only the target rock but all those around it were blown to smithereens.

Shuuhei let his student's arm go and grinned: he knew now what had been going wrong all along. Judging by his expression, however, Ayasegawa still did not. Stuttering, he turned bewildered eyes to Shuuhei:

"Wh-what hap-pened?"

Shuuhei smiled and scratched his head before asking:

"You're an accomplished sword fighter, aren't you? So why do you practise your kata every day?"

The Eleventh Divisioner frowned at the obvious simplicity of the question:

"To maintain strength, precision, muscle memory and-"

"Exactly!"

His student looked more confused than ever and Shuuhei explained:

"Back in the Academy, they taught you step by step how to harness your reiatsu, how to stabilise it, and then how to use it in combination with kidou spells. You basically developed a sort of reiatsu muscle memory, gradually, one degree after the other. To you, it looked like you were doing everything at once easily, but that was only because you learnt only one thing at a time. Here, on the other hand, you tried to do everything at the same time. That's like trying to learn how to wield a blade and the different kinds of battle footsteps at the same time. The result is obvious: you trip."

A light went on in the other man's eyes and Shuuhei felt a deep satisfaction rise within him. He loved that part of teaching. Still grinning, he looked around him in search of the next exercise to give to his student.

He was not prepared for the powerful - and silent - Shou that sent him flying through the air.

**** End of chapter 06 ****


	7. Cheap Shots

**Title**: Cheap Shots  
**Genres**: Drama, angst  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Characters**: Hisagi Shuuhei, Kazeshini  
**Warnings**: blood  
**Betas**: Vivienne Grainger, West_Side

**Summary**: Shuuhei and Kazeshini have never had an easy relationship, but one day, it takes a downright ugly turn, and changes Shuuhei's life forever.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Bleach nor its characters, and I am making no money from writing this fic.

**A/N**:  
* Same deal with Kazeshini as with Ruri'iro Kujaku: I'm stealing the filler anime design, but downplaying the irrational hatred a bit... though maybe not that much in this case...  
* Yes, I made up that little detail that Kazeshini teaches Shuuhei here, but I don't see it as contradicting the spirit of canon.

***

**Chapter 07 - ****Cheap shots**

"No, no, no, Shuu-sama, that won't do. Or are you trying to insult me again maybe?"

Shuuhei raged inside but made sure to keep his features as expressionless as possible as the grotesque sing-song voice echoed through the forest. He would not grant Kazeshini the pleasure to know that the hated nickname and the open taunt had hit home once more. Jumping back to avoid the whirling blades that he felt more than he saw coming his way from the left, he somersaulted in mid-air and landed lightly at the foot of the tree on whose branch he had been temporarily perching. Without even stopping to take a breath of fresh air, he immediately moved away in a flash of shunpo; the place was far too open a terrain for his taste - and his safety.

He hated every minute he spent in the physical company of his zanpakutou spirit, and he wished with all his heart that he could just leave his inner world already and put an end to this masquerade, but he had no choice. Yamamoto-soutaichou had not _asked_ him and his fellow recently-appointed captains to obtain bankai: he had _demanded_ that they do so, as quickly as possible. The promotion of so many bankai-less people was unprecedented, and motivated only by the need and desire to rebuild fully functional Divisions, but the captain-commander had no intention of allowing this exceptional measure to weaken the Gotei 13 in the long run. Kotetsu-san, Rangiku-san, Kira-kun, Iba-san and Shuuhei himself were all expected to acquire bankai within the decade to come. Should they fail to do so, Yamamoto-soutaichou had made it clear that their very position as captains could be jeopardised if other people did develop bankai - and deep within himself, Shuuhei was growing more convinced with each passing week that this humiliating demotion was exactly what would eventually happen to him. He would _never_ get bankai out of Kazeshini...

"Running again, Shuu-sama? What are you afraid of, this time?"

Shuuhei gritted his teeth even as he kept running, and resisted the urge to shake his head. He must not let Kazeshini mess with his mind again!

"Because you _are_ afraid, aren't you, Shuu-chan? You _have_ to be afraid, don't you? Afraid of... ME!"

Shuuhei's heart skipped a beat when Kazeshini suddenly appeared right in front of him. He had no time to think, and instinctively gave in to his reflex to aim for the higher planes. Unfortunately, his zanpakutou spirit knew him inside out, and Shuuhei gasped when his path was blocked by a whizzing blade flying in a graceful arc through the air. Twisting in his jump, he reached out for a branch, grabbed it, and used the little momentum he still had left to re-orient his course towards a nearby tree. His foot had barely touched wood, though, that the branch gave way under him as the other pair of blades harshly separated it from its trunk. He recovered in time to avoid landing in a heap, but he was not surprised when sharp, thin chains wrapped around him and pinned him chest-first to the tree.

He shivered in disgust as he listened to Kazeshini cackling softly behind him. "Lost again, have you, Shuu-sama?"

Shuuhei ignored him, and briefly considered leaving his inner world right there and then, but he knew better than to try such cowardly tactics: delaying would only increase Kazeshini's vicious gloating. Still, he could not stop himself from recoiling in loathing when the spirit pressed himself against his back, and whispered in his ear, "Tell me, dear _master_, why do you insist on not using me? You will never win unless you do."

Shuuhei clenched his teeth once more and tried to focus all his senses on the bark rubbing against his cheek. If Kazeshini wanted to re-tread those all-too-worn paths, Shuuhei was going to let him do that on his own... He cried out and jerked in pain when a hand grabbed his hair and roughly twisted his head back. He closed his eyes to stop himself from looking at Kazeshini's face, but he still clearly heard the spirit's low, hissing voice, "I've had it with you, Hisagi Shuuhei. I'm not playing any longer. This is the last time I'm sparing your life. Next time you come to visit, we'll be fighting for real. You lose, you die. Understand me, _Shuu-sama_?"

Fear filled Shuuhei as he registered the implications of what his zanpakutou spirit was telling him. 'Fighting for real'? Losing and _dying_? Was this even _possible_...? As though he were reading his mind, Kazeshini chuckled and explained in a chilling, soft tone, "Don't fool yourself into thinking this can't happen. You may have been told that a shinigami and a zanpakutou spirit stand as equals within the inner world, but the truth is that a zanpakutou actually holds the upper hand against its master as long as said master has not yet achieved bankai." Kazeshini waited for a few seconds, during which Shuuhei fought not to let the growing dread he was feeling from showing on his face, before concluding in an almost matter-of-fact voice, "Most shinigami remain forever ignorant of this little detail, because it's extremely rare indeed for a zanpakutou spirit to actually _want_ to kill its wielder..."

It was extremely rare - but unfortunately it was very much Kazeshini's case... Shuuhei felt a twinge of something he had not experienced in a long time pierce his belly: panic. He needed to keep practicing towards bankai, he _had_ to keep confronting Kazeshini, but if the zanpakutou spirit was making it a matter of life and death... He shuddered when a finger traced his jaw while the hand in his hair tightened its grip even more. Rage added itself to the confusing swirl of emotions which was growing in his heart when the spirit asked in a mocking voice, "Are you afraid now, Shuuhei? Are you finally _properly_ afraid of your sword?"

Shuuhei's eyes snapped open, and he stared into Kazeshini's dark face and glowing eyes as a giant wave of powerless hatred overwhelmed him. How did the bastard _dare_...?

With a mighty effort, he pulled himself out of his inner world, Kazeshini's cackling laugh accompanying him every step of the way. Even as he clenched his fists and tried to stop himself from shaking with fury, he could not chase the maddening sound from his head. Leaning forward from the kneeling position he usually adopted whenever he visited his inner world, he let his forehead fall until it rested on the cool floorboard of his bedroom - and then he started pounding the wood under him with his fists, one side after the other, as hard as he could. He felt the skin split open on his knuckles, but he did not stop, not even slow down: there was still not enough pain in his body to overpower the anguish in his soul.

Why, _why_? What had he done wrong? When had he stepped off the right path? Why could he not correct his mistake, whatever it was? This was not the way it was supposed to be! He had done everything he had been told to do, he had followed every instruction, every piece of advice he had ever received, so why was the system failing him? He did not understand...

Nothing made sense. How could a cruel, sadistic beast like Kazeshini be his zanpakutou in the first place? He had always been taught that zanpakutou spirits were born from their wielders' soul, but Shuuhei refused to believe that something so... so wicked, could come from anywhere within him. Kazeshini was obsessed with killing, and destroying, when Shuuhei was bent on saving and preserving. They had nothing, _nothing_ in common! Shuuhei still remembered with horror and absolute disgust just how _happy_ Kazeshini had been during the War, as Shuuhei finally relented and used his deadly shikai to cut down life after life, drenching the swirling blades in blood. Every death he caused was an unbearable blot on Shuuhei's conscience, but a delicious victory in Kazeshini's opinion; never had the unfathomable gap between their personalities been so deep, painful and obvious.

Still, once upon a time, Shuuhei had been willing to dismiss this frightening difference, even opposition. He had been eager to bond with his zanpakutou, to learn more about him, to try to reach a compromise, as every shinigami was supposed to do. He had practiced long and hard to master the incredibly subtle art of wielding the two double-scythes. He had built up muscles, and endurance, and precision, to a degree he had not even dreamed was possible at first. Surely this would satisfy Kazeshini, surely it would prompt him to give something to Shuuhei in return?

Unfortunately, it had turned out that Kazeshini's rewards could only be paid in the one currency Shuuhei refused to use: blood. Kazeshini, as his name indicated, craved only one thing: death - the one thing Shuuhei could not contemplate giving him. He would _never_ take another's life unless his own was directly and immediately threatened, it was really that simple.

It was also, he suddenly realised, precisely the situation he was now in, for the rest of his life - kill people, again and again, or face his own zanpakutou in round after round of life or death battle... How could it have come to this?

He almost snorted when he pushed himself back into a sitting position, and the first things he saw upon opening his eyes again were his hands, covered in that very substance Kazeshini was so badly hungering after: blood... Slowly, deliberately, Shuuhei forced himself to lick his wounds clean, even as his mind absently reviewed the many and dreadful ways in which his life had been systematically tainted by the thick, bright red liquid: fallen friends, impaled classmates, disemboweled colleagues, minced superiors and subordinates... Wounds, scars, broken bodies everywhere, throughout the decades... He had tried so hard to escape it, and yet it kept finding him...

Maybe he had been born under the sign of blood after all.

**** End of Chapter 07 ****

**A/N**: some anonymouse has been going around spreading their law as to who fanfic authors are allowed to kill or not kill, and who they must pair together. If any of you reading this got this review, don't take it personally: a friend of mine and I both got it as well. It's particularly funny in my case, since it directly contradicts the very premises of this fic...


	8. Getting There

**Title**: Getting There  
**Genres**: Drama, angst, friendship  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Characters**: Ayasegawa Yumichika, Ruri'iro Kujaku, and Hisagi Shuuhei, Kira Izuru, Iba Tetsuzaemon  
**Warnings**: Yumichika has a dirty mouth when under stress  
**Betas**: Vivienne Grainger, West_Side

**Summary**: Yumichika discovers the hard way that kidou can burn - literally.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Bleach nor its characters, and I am making no money from writing this fic.

******A/N**: Kidou burns are not canon as far as I know, but I've seen them pop up in fanfic here and there, and they make sense to me: when you play with fire, you should run the risk of getting burned, after all.

***

**Chapter 08 - Getting there**

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit!

_"... Yu... Yumi..."_

_"Hold on Kujaku. Just... Just a little bit longer. I'll - I'll get us help..."_

_"... Ah..."_

Another wave of fear washed over Yumichika as he dimly registered the growing weakness in his zanpakutou spirit's voice and presence. Ruri'iro Kujaku was fighting to keep them both alive and conscious, but he was failing. He would not last much longer; Yumichika had to hurry.

_Faster, faster!_ He had never realised how adept he had become at shunpo, nor how dependent on it. Now that he was struggling to take one flash-step after the other, however, he felt like cursing his own proficiency. His private training spot in Rukongai had been only a few minutes away from Seireitei when he had come, but it might as well have been as inaccessible as Hueco Mundo now... His head was spinning so strongly, and his vision was swimming so badly, he could barely assess where he was going. As for moving... The pain in his arms and hands was so intense, it turned his legs into jelly and almost prevented him from breathing.

He had never experienced anything like it. He was used to pain, to all kinds of pain. His skin had been sliced open, bruised, shredded, burned, and subjected to a hundred other forms of destruction through the centuries. His internal organs had been crushed, his bones had been broken more often than he could remember. He had walked on twisted ankles and shattered legs, he had hung onto his sword even when his fingers should have stopped functioning. He _knew_ pain, extensively, and intimately. And yet, he was feeling powerless when confronted to this new type of internal, bone-deep fire, and the relentless waves of torturing nausea were threatening to make him lose consciousness at any moment.

He was not even sure what exactly had happened. What had he done wrong, or not done at all? He had been eager to resume his kidou training after ten days spent on an away mission, cleaning up a Hollow colony in some remote area far away from Karakura Town. Living in the constant company of the three Eleventh Division squads which had been assigned to him for the job meant that he could never have a minute to himself, a moment to practice his forbidden arts. So when he had finally come back home, the main thought on his mind had been to leave Seireitei, to head for his usual quiet, lonely spot high and deep in the mountains of Rukongai, and to re-acquaint himself with his beloved kidou. He had felt like he was nearly bursting with energy and eager anticipation, he had been so happy... And then everything had gone wrong. One moment he was focusing his reiryoku in his hands while mentally preparing the spell he was about to cast, and the next he was kneeling on the floor, screaming in agony and cradling his burning arms.

Even now, as he concentrated on taking one careful flash-step after the other, he was still holding his forearms tightly pressed against his chest. He had no time to check on them, nor did he dare anymore: the previous inspections had told him that the nasty-looking, thick scars criss-crossing his skin were only getting larger and darker with each passing minute. The very idea of his blackened, deformed limbs added another layer to the sickness that was overwhelming him... Help, he needed help!

A small measure of relief touched his heart when he finally reached the confines of Seireitei; he was almost there... Now to reach the Seventh Division, and hope Iba-san was home... Through the ever-denser fog in his mind, the stern face of his friend shone like a beacon: Iba-san, if he could only reach Iba-san, somehow, things would be all right again, Iba-san would know what to do, he would take care of everything without getting the wrong people involved... Running along roofs and jumping over alleys, he headed straight for the Seventh Division, oblivious to everything and everyone around him, focused only on his destination, and on the need, the necessity, to not falter, not stumble, not _show_ anything...

It seemed like an eternity in Hell before finally the captain's private quarters loomed within his blurred field of vision. His heart leapt ever so slightly, too exhausted to truly rejoice, when he noticed the lights in the windows; Tetsu-san was home... With one last effort, he plunged forward, landed on the gallery in front of the main entrance, and knocked twice using the one thing he could spare - his forehead. When the door opened and a familiar voice resonated in his ears, loudly submerging him in waves of incomprehensible words, he finally allowed himself to close his eyes and surrender to the darkness which had been tugging at his consciousness for so long... Even when he started to fall, and strong hands caught him by the arms, sending fresh bursts of pain exploding throughout his body, he could not muster the strength to do more than groan and twitch. He felt himself being half-carried, half-dragged into the room, and he heard other voices shouting around him, but he did not care any more. By now, the only thing he still needed to do was to hang on, to endure patiently until someone, somehow, managed to put an end to this ordeal and patch him back together.

Turning inwards, he plunged into the depths of his inner world, anxiously looking for Ruri'iro Kujaku's dangerously diminishing presence. The garden was in the throes of a dark thunderstorm, and there was almost no light to guide his way. The winds were raging furiously around him, pulling at his clothes and whipping his hair in his face, and he had to be careful and deliberate once more as he took one step after the other over the broken landscape. Unfortunately, now that he was within the zanpakutou spirit's realm, he had lost the psychic connection with him, and he could only stare blindly into the angry night, and futilely scream his companion's name under the roar of the tempest...

He looked up in surprise when the storm suddenly abated and the skies started to clear. He had no time to think about the strange phenomenon, though, as a flash of very familiar blue light caught his eye. Kujaku! There, a couple dozen paces to his right, the spirit sat at the foot of a crumbling wall, huddled within his long feathers, which glowed faintly in a slow, irregular pulsating pattern. Even from the distance, Yumichika could tell that Ruri'iro Kujaku was not doing well at all, and his heart fell as he rushed forward and knelt down next to him. Gently, he wrapped trembling arms around his companion's rolled-up body, and pulled the unresponsive spirit into a tight but careful embrace, before whispering, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Kujaku did not answer verbally, but the way one long feather wrapped itself around Yumichika's waist told him everything he needed to know.

Together, they waited silently while the clouds finished clearing, and the winds evaporated, and the air around them became still and heavy. Yumichika knew this uncomfortable feeling very well: his body was exhausted, which was to be expected after the ordeal it had just gone through. For once though, he was actually relieved with that outcome, as he was quite sure he had come very close to suffering a much worse fate indeed... He jumped a little when Ruri'iro Kujaku moved between his arms, and he watched in apprehension as the spirit raised his head from his knees. The look his companion gave him was a terribly tired one, but the small, brave smile reassured him. He smiled too in return when a feather stroked his cheek and Kujaku said, in a low but firm voice, "I'll be fine. Go, we need to sleep."

Yumichika nodded, took one last long look at his zanpakutou spirit's exhausted but determined face, and reached outwards again. He had been expecting pain, and he was pleasantly surprised when he was only met with a mild, dim throbbing in his hands - this was perfectly tolerable. He also noticed that the voices around him were now speaking in urgent but hushed tones, and he felt vaguely grateful for it. Struggling to open his eyes, he stared blindly for a while at a very nondescript ceiling, until a fuzzy blob suddenly intruded upon his field of vision from his left. He frowned as he forced himself to focus and to recognise the face in front of him. Blond hair, a single large, mournful blue eye... He sighed and returned his gaze to the ceiling as Kira-taichou said something he did not understand - and did not particularly want to understand, to be perfectly honest. The Third Division's captain was not one of his favourite people in Seireitei, to say the least...

The same could not be said of the other face which appeared in front of him, from his right this time. Messy black hair, one scarred cheek, one tattooed one, and a very concerned scowl: Hisagi-sensei was not happy. When he too spoke, Yumichika frowned as he tried his hardest to understand what his teacher was saying - but to no avail. He could hear sounds, and he had the most tenacious feeling that he should be able to translate them into syllables and words, but his brain just could not seem to make heads nor tails of it all. He groaned as his world blurred and lurched, and a wave of cold sweat broke all over his body; he could not do this... He closed his eyes, and shivered when he felt a heavy blanket being carefully laid upon him, and a large hand briefly squeeze his shoulder. He was safe now, he could allow himself to go to sleep, peacefully and gratefully...

**** End of Chapter 08 ****

**A/N**: my sincerest apologies to anyone who may have reviewed and never received any acknowledgment from me. I'm not ignoring you, and please don't think that your comments don't matter to me! They matter, A LOT! So please forgive me, and I promise to do my best to reply to reviews from now on :)


End file.
